


playing with fire

by goukyorin (sashimisusie)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 22:56:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3335837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sashimisusie/pseuds/goukyorin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fire burns, and those who forget it will burn themselves. She knows this, and still persists.</p>
            </blockquote>





	playing with fire

**“** Do you have any idea what's at stake here? **”**

Cassandra does not recoil, though in the blanch of flushed cheeks and the flintiness that hardens her gaze, she might very well have. The Enchanter’s words are a slap, velvet-lined but still a blow upon the shield of emotion she has dropped at her feet.

_Fire burns, and those who forget it will burn themselves._

Vivienne can cultivate the ice-block barriers and static cages she desires, but the cold flame in her heart burns bright beneath the peaks she has set down to keep the faint of heart at bay, a faint but flickering light that the Seeker cannot help but be drawn by. This will break her heart, perhaps irrevocably, but she knows, she  _knows_  it and wants it anyway, fingers tracing arcane marks on bare skin and mouth whispering prayers to the Maker and His Bride. Cassandra kneels in supplication, lifts voice in song and lets her heart love so strongly that she cannot breathe for the want of her.

They face death at every turn, and curl into the darkness of night without the certainty that they will see the rising of the sun. Cassandra knows, she  _knows_  this and does not dare let loose the unspoken beat of her heart that flutters hopefully at breath-caught smile bare of pretense.

She was never very good with words.

**“**  I do,  **”**  she breathes, quiet against the ocean-roar of Vivienne’s heart beneath the shell of her ear, the sea calling its daughters home to the shores of sleep. Silk rustles, whisper-soft, and she draws closer to stave off tendrils of cold creeping into the warmth of her core.  **“**  I am not a blind fool, or a child without reason. Let tomorrow be tomorrow.  **”**


End file.
